No Rest
by Supernaturelle
Summary: Tag to 3.16, No Rest For The Wicked. Bobby's POV on the aftermath. Rated T purely because of the theme.


A/N: This is a tag to 3.16, No Rest For The Wicked. Rated T because of the theme, which was kind of demanded by the episode...

I wrote this a long time ago, and decided to post it now because... well, for no particular reason, really. I was moved to write something for the ep, with that unbelievably tragic ending to a year-long storyline, and thought it would be really interesting to explore Bobby's POV, something I haven't done before. Possibly because of that, I think it came out feeling a bit different from many of the tags to that episode. I've read a LOT of them, many absolutely brilliant, and hope mine adds something interesting to the collection.

Any reviews would be much appreciated.

Disclaimer: Once again, I must remove myself briefly from the delusion that SPN belongs to me...

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Bobby knew. The second he saw the demon guards outside the house head off in their separate directions, he knew in his gut that it hadn't gone the way they'd hoped.

The minutes had ticked by agonizingly slowly after midnight, and then there'd been the brilliant flash of light through one of the windows, and then more silence. Only a few more seconds until the guards disbanded, and real despair dug deep into Bobby's heart.

Still keeping out a careful eye, Bobby quickly made his way across the street. Even as he half-smiled, remembering Sam's earlier offhand comment about "ninja-ing" their way past Lilith's lackeys, a stab of desolation hit, a creeping terror of what he'd see when he walked into that house. Of the thought of what might have become of John Winchester's legacy, the boys he'd considered his own charges since they'd been orphaned only two years before. The amount they'd all been through since then – God, it felt far longer than twenty-four months.

Bobby steeled himself as he made his way into the house. He pushed back the small part of him that was still in denial, wishing to walk into a room and find Sam and Dean sitting with a couple beers, laughing about some moronic joke Dean would no doubt have made about Sam gettin' all girly and tearful on him just before midnight. It hurt too much to entertain the false hopes.

Turning one last corner, he found the door left swinging wide open, goofer dust scattered across the floor. A last-ditch attempt at salvation, one that had clearly failed.

He saw Ruby first. There was a grim sense of not-quite-relief, gone in an instant, for the girl who'd been trapped in there powerless for months now, before his eyes wandered farther into the room and his heart broke.

Dean's mangled, lifeless body lay cradled in his younger brother's arms, clouded-over eyes still eerily wide open, the whole scene splattered vividly with the gruesome results of the hellhound's attack. Bobby Singer had seen a lot in his life, random pointless horrors both overtly violent and of the kind that left more hidden wounds, and was hardened to most things that would send normal people running for the hills. But he felt the gorge rise in his throat as he saw the Winchester family so finally, utterly broken.

The gruesome gashes across Dean's torso and legs were deep and ugly, each one clearly intended to kill, and the fixed unseeing gaze was deeply disturbing. But it was the sight of the younger brother that had Bobby really wishing he'd learned his lesson all those years ago, not let himself become so attached to anyone again. His stomach twisted into sickening knots, his heart aching fit to burst for the wreck that the proud, strong, independent Sam Winchester was reduced to.

The tears flowed unrestrained down the young man's face, his hands tenderly holding the broken body of the man who'd given raising the boy a better shake than their traumatized father had ever managed, the one person the youngest Winchester had had left in a life that had seen the people he loved taken mercilessly one by one.

Bobby let out a choked sob, unable to hold back his own crushing grief any longer, and felt impossibly even worse as Sam, startled, raised his head. The depth of emotion in those eyes, not inexpressive at the best of times, hit Bobby hard. Despite his deep caring for the Winchester family, he suddenly felt like a careless intruder on a moment that should have been completely private. Hanging his head, he took a step back, making to leave the room, silently apologizing to Sam for disrupting his incomprehensible grief, although resolving not to go too far – he, for one, would not allow a repeat of the mistakes of twelve months before.

"Please..." The broken word only just reached Bobby's ears, so quietly spoken that at first he wasn't sure it was meant for him. His hesitation was broken when Sam spoke again. "Bobby... please... stay."

It was a rare moment of weakness for the older hunter that made him pause before making his way to Sam's side. He slowly took the few steps across the room, his gut twisting in the knowledge that he couldn't be the stoic supporting figure that the Winchester boys had so often depended upon. Not here and now, when it was needed more than ever. But all his years of being a hunter had convinced Bobby of few things so strongly as the fact that the broken remnant of a family before him deserved to have someone at least try.

Tears flowing down his own face, Bobby crouched down and reached out a hand to settle on Sam's shoulder, the other tentatively moving towards the forearm that rested across Dean's mangled chest. Sam turned towards him once again, and Bobby breathed out "Sam, my boy, I'm so..." Sam's voice, raw and shaking, interrupted with the plaintive plea that Bobby had been dreading, the one question he didn't know he could ever answer. "Bobby, he... he's gone. I can't... what am I s'posed to do?"

Bobby knew he owed it to Sam to offer something. Hell, he owed it to _Dean _to do anything he could for the boy in front of him. The best he could do felt so inadequate as he tried to find any words that could possibly be of any use, but eventually he quietly replied. "You're s'posed to keep goin', son. That's what Dean wants for you. You honour him, you remember what he taught you..." A violent sob broke from Sam's throat, and something flickered in the young man's eyes that Bobby wouldn't fathom until days later, when an inebriated Sam would tell him about his unwitting channelling of Dean's own final moments.

Bobby had little left to say. He felt completely drained, and still didn't presume he could imagine what Sam was going through. He did know the kid must be exhausted, weary to his soul, and offered the one thing he could think of that seemed important, if only in the smallest way. "But, Sam, you don't have to do that right now. You don't have to worry about it. We'll figure it out, but later. You take the time you need, son."

Sam hugged his brother's body tighter, the tears still flowing freely down his cheeks. Bobby pulled him closer, allowing the boy's head to settle on his shoulder, and sat with him, offering what little support he could to a little brother who had lost his hero. Just for a while, they took the time. Bobby grieved for a friend, a comrade, a son, and tried to shut out the insidious voice which had already started tormenting his mind. Because whilst Bobby was unutterably thankful that both these boys hadn't been taken from him, he knew there was no way Sam should have survived.

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End file.
